


Divergence: An 'In Another Lifetime' Story Collection

by madame_faust



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom - Susan Kay, The Phantom of the Opera (TV 1990)
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Not Beta Read, Not Own Voices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:40:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24193729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madame_faust/pseuds/madame_faust
Summary: Little stories connected to my Susan Kay/Charles Dance Crossover AU 'In Another Lifetime' (aka the Kerik Adopts Cherik AU.)
Relationships: Erik | Phantom of the Opera & Madeleine (Phantom), Erik | Phantom of the Opera & Marie Perrault (Phantom)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Divergence: An 'In Another Lifetime' Story Collection

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this little tale of Kerik and his two moms for Mother's Day! It's a tribute to Marie Perrault, really, but Madeleine still tries to do well by her son - called Charles, after her husband - in this one, in her own style ;-) Crossposted from Tumblr.

Marie Perault was blessed with musical friends; she herself could not carry a tune nor tell one note from another, but she knew the sound of Madeleine’s piano-playing was pretty and skillful and little Charles’s voice was as close to hearing an angel as she was likely too upon this earth - his piano playing was a little less heavenly, however. 

It was down to his hands; he was only five-years-old and try as he might, the space between his thumb and little finger was not wide enough to span an octave which stymied his ability to play as fluidly as his mother. And being five, he was prone to tantrums. 

An unmusical thump from the music room brought her running on quick feet; Charles had evidently overturned the piano bench and given the poor instrument a good hard kick. The former was plainly visible - the latter easily deduced by the evidence of him hopping up and down on one foot in pain.

Gently she tutted and righted the piano bench. Sitting atop it she looked him squarely in the face and asked, “Did that make you feel better?”

Charles screwed up his misshapen mouth, chin wrinkling, eyes narrowing. It really was the most adorable thing, his righteous childhood fury - she had to press her own lips together to keep from laughing. 

“No,” he admitted, grumpily. “Only the stupid piano won’t do as I want.”

With a sigh and a sympathetic nod she agreed, “It is very frustrating when we want to do something and can’t. But losing our temper and taking it out on the piano, well, that’s a little silly, isn’t it. You can’t play the piano with your feet!”

That did it. Charles could not maintain his anger in the face of such excellent humor. He smiled, then giggled, a delightful little sound.

“No!” he agreed, shaking his head. “That’s silly!”

“Isn’t it?” Marie chuckled herself. Reaching out she took both of Charles’s hands in hers and looked into his bi-colored eyes. “Awfully silly! And you can’t do such things at school, you know. You don’t want the other children to think you’re a contrary soul, do you?”

“No,” Charles agreed, looking very serious all of a sudden. Then he got a sly look about him and changed his answer. “I mean, yes! Yes, always yes. I ought to say yes, so I’m not contrary, shouldn’t I?”

Such a sly and clever little imp! Marie laughed and kissed the top of his head; yes, school would be just the thing for him. For his teacher would not be so soft-hearted as she nor as full of maternal pride as Madeleine. He would be taken well in hand and that clever little mind moulded for good and -

The front door slammed. As one, Charles and Marie turned their heads toward the sound, With wide eyes, Charles looked wonderingly up at Marie and said, “But I haven’t done anything! I promise!”

Patting his hand reassuringly, Marie rose from the bench and gestured that Charles should take his place upon it. 

“Practice your chords and scales, my dear,” she encouraged him. “I’ll see what the matter is.”

Indeed, Madeleine was cross. Her cheeks were flushed rosy-red in agitation, she had carelessly thrown her bonnet onto the parlor sofa and was tearing her gloves off violently. 

The sound of the piano was audible, but Marie feared not loud enough. She closed the door behind her and muffled the sound within and without. And not too soon either, for no sooner had the latch caught than Madeleine started speaking 

“That headmaster is the dullest, most ridiculous, short-sighted man,” she huffed. “Imagine! Denying Charles a place at that…that dingy little lean-to he calls a school.”

“What?” Marie asked, alarmed. “Denied! Whatever for?”

Even as the words left her mouth, she suspected she knew. Madeleine confirmed it before she spoke it, glancing at the door and lowering her voice in a way that she never did when she was complaining…except about one thing. Really, they neither of them ought to have been surprised.

“M. Bertrand,” Madeleine spat the name of the headmaster like it was a curse. “Believes that Charles will be…a _distraction_ to the other children. Or an object of scorn.”

Marie sighed heavily. Truly, she did not envy M. Bertrand’s position - though she herself, were she employed by the village school, would have done her best to mitigate any mistreatment by the other children. Thus, in time, they would simply see Charles as…Charles. At least, she hoped so. 

Any yet, she had lived in Boscherville all her life and while she did not view the neighbors with the same level of eye-rolling disdain as Madeleine did, she could not deny that they were…limited in their perceptions. At least some of them. She knew, when Charles was smaller, some had applied to Pere Mansart to request Madeleine left the baby at home when she attended Mass because his appearance disturbed them so.

Pere Mansart, unlike M. Bertrand, swiftly denied he would do any such thing. All souls were welcome in the church. No matter what they looked like. And because he refused to budge (and because Saint Georges was the only church in easy travelling distance), the complaints stopped. And if there were some in the village who were still not accustomed to Charles’s appearance, they were good enough to give them all a wide berth and not trouble them over it. 

Too much, anyway. Sometimes there were rocks thrown at the house. Or shouts in the streets, but those were rare since the memorable incident two years ago when Madeleine beat a man who’d struck Charles with her parasol until he ran off. Now it was not merely the child who was regarded with no small amount of fear. Madeleine proved herself to be a force to be reckoned with whereas before she was pitied only.

Yet, even Madeleine’s notorious spine of steel had been unable to budge M. Bertrand. 

“Well?” Madeleine asked Marie expectantly. “What? You look as though you want to say something. What is it?”

 _Spit it out, Marie!_ she said often during their school days when Marie was too quiet and too timid for her liking. 

“It’s…too bad,” Marie replied awkwardly. There was much she wanted to say, but she doubted Madeleine was in a mood to hear her. “Charles was so looking forward to going to school.”

“Oh, he’ll be _going_ to school,” Madeleine said vehemently. “I’ll hire the best tutor money can buy! He’ll be better educated than any of the little bumpkins who matriculate from Bertrand’s pathetic little hovel, I can swear to that. And do you know, I ought to have settled on that from the first. He’s a brilliant boy, he’s far beyond his peers already I don’t doubt.”

Marie glanced back at the closed door between themselves and Erik.

 _He’s a lonely boy_ , she thought to herself. Excepting herself and Madeleine, he had few people he encountered regularly. Thank God for her brother; though he lived with his wife and children in Rouen, they visited tolerably often and he was large-hearted enough that he encouraged his children to play with Charles when they were in the neighborhood. But a few weekends out of the year with other children his own age was hardly adequate for any child. 

But Madeleine had already settled the matter; she was going to write to some of Charles’s - her husband Charles, M. Duchamp’s - colleagues. To see if they might recommend someone. Failing that, Pere Mansart. It seemed that all the priests who dropped out of the seminary to pursue marriage became teachers.

The latter Madeleine muttered to herself as she swept out of the room. Marie put her bonnet on the hatstand and gathered her gloves. The sound of the piano had ceased; the house was very quiet and still. Even the dog wasn’t barking. 

When Marie went back into the music room, she saw why; Charles was holding her in his lap, his face buried in her fur. When he heard her come in, he gave an odd-sounding sniffle, wiping his face on his sleeve. Marie sat down on the floor beside him, removing a handkerchief from her pocket and daubing at his face. She was careful about it; his skin was very delicate and prone to bruising.

Charles did not say anything and neither did she; it was silly to think he wouldn’t listen at the keyhole. Silly to get his hopes up - no, more than silly. It was foolish.

Silently, Marie opened her arms and he crawled over to her, laying his head on her shoulder. She kissed the top of his head and held him as a few more tears leaked from his eyes and she felt a little of Madeleine’s wrath burn in her own chest. What idiots their neighbors were! He was just a little boy, like any other. Ought a simple accident of birth inform the path of his life? It wasn’t fair!

But then, she thought of Madeleine upstairs, applying to the charity of her husband’s former colleagues, her husband of a year who left her a widow at nineteen; life was often terribly unfair. 

“Do you want to play some more?” Marie asked, after a little silence. “Or…lunch? It’s gone noon, I think I heard the clock chiming.”

Charles shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”

Sasha was pawing at Marie’s skirts spread on the ground. Thank God for dogs.

“A walk?” she asked. “We could take Sasha’s lead and go for a nice walk. That always makes me feel better when I’m sad.”

That was a lie. But they had been lying to him for months about starting school in the autumn. What was one more?

Charles looked up. “May I hold the lead?”

“Yes,” Marie nodded. “But only if you don’t run! You’re too quick, I could never catch you.”

Grinning, Charles got up, tears drying on his gaunt little cheeks. “Come along, Sasha! Let’s go as far as the church!”

“Not so fast, I said!” Marie got to her feet and gave chase, though her heart was heavy. This was the first in what was likely to be a long line of disappointments for that poor boy; and she knew that it would not be the worst of them. Not by a mile.


End file.
